South Park Factions
by Edduyasha the Damned
Summary: All Hell breaks loose in South Park Elementary, as two rival cliques wage war.  The town faces devastation by the conflict, and all the citizens are caught in the crossfire, including Stan, Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman...


**_South Park- Factions_**

A fanfic by Edduyasha the Damned, based on her original fan-comic

**_Prologue:_**

Ever since the feeble days of kindergarten, the popular kids and the punks coexisted peacefully. They worked together, played together, and even shared things with one another. As time passed, a rift grew between the two cliques. Distrust and paranoia set in. Then, one fateful day in 4th grade, the delicate balance of power shattered. Thus began the greatest conflict in South Park Elementary history…

**_Chapter 1: The Hallway Incident_**

Warblade, the punk leader, trudged through the halls, weary from the school day. Her eyes were emotionless as she proceeded to her locker, slouched over to support the Warlock guitar hanging off her back. She mumbled something filthy under her breath about her teacher, when- Thump! She landed face down on the cold tile floor, to her twin sister's nasal whining.

"Get outta my way, you ugly freak!" snapped Katy, as she straightened out her purse.

Warblade snarled, furious at her ever-popular sister for making her look like a fool in front of the whole school. Her studded wristbands glistened in the fluorescent light as she stood promptly, cracked her knuckles, and chased her sister down the hall out of the school.

"Haha! Stupid punk! Wha-" laughed Cartman from a few lockers away.

Kyle cut him off, "Shut up, fatass!"

Stan and Kenny walked up in front of Kyle, with defensive looks in their eyes.

"No! Kyle's right! You know how those groups fight!" Stan shouted.

"Yeah!" Kenny added.

Cartman rolled his eyes at them. A sarcastic smirk crossed his face as he exclaimed up to their faces, "I hate punks! The only people that I hate more are the DAMN HIPPIES!!"

Kyle, appalled by his nasty comeback, yelled, "They didn't do anything to you!"

"Yeah!" Stan and Kenny cried in unison.

Cartman gave them the finger as he stalked off, shouting, "Screw you guys, I'm going home!"

As Cartman stomped off, Stan, Kyle and Kenny stood there in disbelief; that their "friend" would betray them just because he hated a fellow classmate.

"I'm sick of him insulting and hating everyone," Stan muttered.

A shrewd plot occurred to Kyle right then and there. He raised a fist and declared, "Then let's join the punks!"

"Yeah, that'll show him!" Kenny nodded in agreement…

_**Chapter 2: The Girl who Cried War**_

Inhuman rage ran through Warblade's blood. She swung her bladed guitar in uncontrolled arcs, destroying anything she could find in the back alley. Garbage cans fell to the ground cut cleanly in half, as Warblade howled every curse word she knew.

"That's it!!" she shouted, gazing at the path of destruction she had created. Her shaggy black hair and scarf blew sinisterly in the wind, as she panted in exhaustion. She turned suddenly when she felt someone's hand upon her shoulder.

"What's wrong, Warblade? Poppies getting to you again?" her fellow bandmate Chris asked gently.

Warblade shoved his hand off her scarlet Anarchy shirtsleeve angrily.

"Who else?! This is WAR!" she snarled.

Chris backed away with a repentant look. He knew what kinds of terrors his leader could bring when she was angry.

"Don't worry, Warblade… Let's just go to the gig now. We still need to gather forces to fight, you know," he reassured her.

_He's right…_thought Warblade sadly. She sighed and replaced the bladed guitar upon her back.

"Let's go," she said in a calmer voice, as they walked to the outskirts of town to their makeshift stage…

_**Chapter 3: The Search**_

"Dude, Kenny. Where do we find the punks?" asked Kyle.

The trio of boys were getting rather weary from walking so far out of town. Kenny turned back to Stan and Kyle and nodded.

"Here- a bit further down the road…" he remarked as they came up upon a snowy drift.

They stared down to the immense, chaotic scene below them. A run-down stage greeted their eyes, and they marveled at the size of the violent mosh pit in front of it.

"Wow…look at that mosh pit!" Stan said in utter amazement.

Kyle clasped his hands over his mouth In shock, "Y'know, I'm having second thoughts about this…" he whined.

Kenny looked at him and reminded him, "Well, you did come up with this…"

Kyle's thoughts jumped back to earlier that day in school. He saw Cartman's angry expression in his mind and recalled the stinging insults about the innocent punk girl. He clenched his fist and pointed ahead, determined.

"Yeah! Let's get Cartman back for this!" he yelled, "Let's go!"

The three proceeded down the snowy path to the edge of the massive most pit. Kyle approached the crowd, as other fellow classmates shoved each other around somewhat in time to the blasting music.

"Uh…can we go talk to your leader…?" he asked the mass of people humbly.

He leapt back as a girl with scruffy black hair, a pitch-black scarf, a scarlet Anarchy shirt and spiked bracelets landed right in front of him. _She looks a lot like the girl from school_, he thought.

"Kickass!" the girl remarked happily.

He stood over her, and asked again, "Uh…can we talk to your leader? Please?"

She rolled over on her belly and stared up questioningly into his eyes. Kyle stared back. The girl stood and crossed her arms across her chest.

"Well, what do you want with me?" she asked suspiciously.

Stan stepped up with Kenny and declared, "We'd like to join your clique…"

Kenny threw the horns with both hands as Stan looked on with wild excitement in his eyes.

Warblade tilted her head down and looked at the boys menacingly. Her shaggy bangs blew in the wind as she stared at them, eyes hidden in shadow.

"Fine, only if you prove yourselves worthy," she told them, "To join, play me a good cover song…and come out of the mosh pit alive."

Kyle exclaimed, "Let's go!", as he pointed straight at the stage…

_**Chapter 4: The Audition**_

The boys took their places upon the shanty stage. The band, Paranoid Delusion, playing before them walked off and handed off their instruments to the boys. Warblade herself handed Stan her own Warlock guitar, blades retracted into the body. Stan, Kyle, and Kenny wondered how the band knew what instruments they played; they hardly ever talked to the punks anyways…

Kenny sat at the drum set and waited. Stan started to tune the guitar, staring at the exotic-shaped instrument doubtfully. They had no clue what song they were going to cover…

Kyle placed his fingers on the bass guitar's frets. He looked up and out to the crowd, expectantly.

"Will you welcome…Moop- Covering System of a Down's "B.Y.O.B.!" he shouted to the impatient mob.

Stan and Kenny breathed a sigh of relief. He had forgotten that they had been practicing that very song to study the Nu-Metal style. His eyes narrowed… _But this isn't punk…_he thought, worriedly.

Kyle seemed to have read his mind. He shot Stan a reproachful glare and raised his arm, preparing to shred the first chord. Kenny counted off and Stan took his mind off all things but the music. He started to rock out, zoning out everything but his band…

"Why do they always send the poor!" he shouted in unison the first line of the song with Kyle…

Kyle went and took the lead vocals…

_"Barbarisms by Barbarus, with pointed heels-_

_Victorious, victories kneel for brand new spankin' deals…_

_Marching forward, hypocritic and hypnotic computers,_

_You depend on our protection, yet you feed us lies from the tablecloth!_

_Ah-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-laah!_

_Everybody's going to the party have a real good time!_

_Dancing in the desert, blowing up the sunshine!_

_Kneeling roses disappearing Into Moses' dry mouth,_

_Breaking into Fort Knox stealing our intentions,_

_Hangars sitting dripped in oil- crying FREEDOM!!_

_Handed to absolution,_

_Still you feed us lies from the table cloth!_

_Ah-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-laah!_

_Everybody's going to the party have a real good time._

_Dancing in the desert blowing up the sunshine._

_Everybody's going to the party have a real good time._

_Dancing in the desert blowing up the sunshine._

_Blast off, it's party time,_

_And we don't live in a fascist nation,_

_Blast off, it's party time,_

_And where the fuck are you?_

_Where the fuck are you?_

_Where the fuck are you?_

_Why don't presidents fight the war?_

_Why do they always send the poor?_

_Why don't presidents fight the war?_

_Why do they always send the poor [x 4_

_Kneeling roses disappearing Into Moses' dry mouth,_

_Breaking into Fort Knox stealing our intentions,_

_Hangars sitting dripped in oil, crying FREEDOM!!_

_Handed to absolution,_

_Still you feed us lies from the tablecloth._

_Ah-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-laah!_

_Everybody's going to the party have a real good time._

_Dancing in the desert blowing up the sunshine._

_Everybody's going to the party have a real good time._

_Dancing in the desert blowing up the sunshine_

_Where the fuck are you!_

_Where the fuck are you!_

_Why don't presidents fight the war?_

_Why do they always send the poor?_

_Why don't presidents fight the war?_

_Why do they always send the poor [x 3_

_Why, do, they always send the poor [x 3_

_They only send the poor [x 2"_

As the boys sung, danced, and rocked out, Warblade watched carefully from the backstage. _Hmm…they're actually pretty good!..._she thought. She stared out to the crowd. They seemed to agree with her, too; while Stan, Kyle, and Kenny neared the end of their song. They shouted their last lines, then they dove into the mosh pit, crowd-surfing like revered rock-stars.

She made her way to the back of the mosh pit and waited for the boys to show up. Kyle and Stan leapt from the crowd's hands in front of her, clothes in tatters. Kenny crashed to the ground a few minutes later, grinning, "I'm okay!"

Kyle stepped forward and asked wearily, "Well, how'd we do?"

Warblade looked at them, pleased. She nodded and exclaimed, "How's 'flipping awesome' sound? Meet me at my house two doors from Kenny's at 7:00!"

The boys cheered as they all headed home to change out of their ratted clothes and clean up.

_**Chapter 5: The Induction**_

The sun glowed warmly beyond the mountains as Kyle, Stan, and Kenny knocked on Warblade's door. They were promptly greeted by another girl, whom Kenny recognized as Katy. Kyle looked on in surprise. _Wasn't this the girl who tripped the punk leader? _he asked himself. The girl stood right up to his face, obviously ticked off.

"What?" she demanded.

"We want to see Warblade," Kyle answered.

Katy glared at them venomously and shoved open the door. She scowled as she pointed to the back of the house, "Oh. Her. Stupid punk's in her room."

The boys rushed into the house, past the raging popular-kids-only party going on in the living room. Stan shot the room a hurried glance, where he spotted Wendy dancing with Craig. He groaned, and followed Kyle and Kenny into the darkened room down the hallway.

They stepped silently into the darkness. They looked straight ahead to a hooded figure with a bladed guitar upon its back. Two white candles burned atop an altar-like table, flanked by two Japanese-styled banners with the Anarchy symbol. A large black Anarchy sign was painted on the wall, just above the table.

The hooded figure muttered, "Come forward, inductees." The figure raised its arms and said solemnly, "Repeat after me."

The boys followed suit and placed their right hands upon their heart, saying exactly what the hooded figure said.

_"We pledge allegiance to the punks…_

_Of the Back Alley Order of South Park…_

_And to the Society to which we stand…_

_One great clique…Under God…_

_Indivisible, with liberty and Punk Rock to all!"_

After all the people in the room recited the pledge in unison, the hooded figure in front of the table tore off the hood, revealing Warblade's jovial countenance.

"Rejoice," she smiled, "for you are hereby known as punks!"

Kenny, Stan, and Kyle looked at each other and grinned. They were finally accepted into the punk clique!

_**Chapter 6: The Makeover**_

Warblade's smile faded. She went on, "But…you don't look anything like us." She pointed at each of them, "Your clothes are immaculate…Kyle's hair is funny-looking…"

The trio giggled in embarrassment, blushing red.

Warblade scratched her head and thought for a second. She pulled a hefty cardboard box from under her bed, filled to the brim with ratty punk attire. She motioned to the boys to come and see.

"Stan, Kenny, look and see what you like…and Kyle… Kenny's gonna give you a haircut."

Kenny looked at her, perplexed. He scratched the top of his bright orange parka in confusion.

"Me?" he asked doubtfully.

"No, me," said a voice from the shadows. A lanky boy with a bright blue mohawk stepped out from the darkness, holding a pair of scissors and a can of hair glue, "My name's Kenny, too."

Stan looked at Kyle and shrugged, then turned to dig in the box Warblade had shown them. His friend Kenny also went to dig deep into the box of oddities for things to wear. Warblade led Kyle to another corner of the room, where he sat and Kenny climbed upon a short footstool. He slashed open the left corner of Kyle's bright green ushanka, amidst a few cries of protest.

"Tch. Curly hair is hard to work with…" Kenny complained as he began snipping away at Kyle's poofy Jew-fro.

Kyle looked on doubtfully as Kenny cut bits and pieces of hair furiously, then sprayed tons of hair glue into his curly red hair. After a few minutes of pulling hair and muttered complaints from Kenny, Kyle walked over to a small mirror that Stan was using.

"Whoa, dude!" he exclaimed, poking at the now-hardened three spikes of crimson hair sticking from his torn hat, "Liberty spikes!"

Stan turned to him and gave him two thumbs up, as Kyle joined his two best friends in looking for some clothes and accessories to wear. After a good half-hour's searching for accessories and "decorating" the hats and coats they wore, Warblade approached them once more.

"There! You all look that much better! Furthermore, I can tell which division you're part of," she told them.

She pointed at Kyle and nodded. He had dressed like a fellow Anarcho-Punk. Kyle had hastily sewn a black patch to the right side of his ushanka, drawn the Anarchy symbol on the fuzzy right part of the hat with black sharpie, and added a safety pin to the left side. He had two scarlet markings upon his face, under his right eye like two small scars. Around his neck hung a black sword necklace. The left sleeve of his coat was torn off, and the right side had black markings similar to the red ones on his face. He wore spiked bracelets and black fingerless gloves just like hers. He had traded his plain forest green cargo pants for camouflage pants, and he wore a pair of beaten-up, black combat boots.

Kenny apparently went for the Horror/Goth Punk look. He wore a plain black headband crossed under another spiked, dangerous-looking headband. Scarlet spiked armor adorned his shoulders, and he wore an Ankh necklace with animal claws. Beaten patches of fabric decorated his now ratted parka, and he had attached two long chains on the left side of his pants. He wore a plain black wristband on his left hand, and a spiked bracelet on the other hand. Heavy black eyeliner accented his eyes.

Warblade turned to look at Stan. She tilted her head to the side in amusement; he had dressed as one of the more obscure branches of punks- the Cyber Punk. His red and blue hat had markings added to it like the ones on Kyle's coat, and a pair of black-tinted goggles sat crookedly upon his forehead. His scruffy black hair stuck out from beneath his hat. His tan coat had bright neon blue strips of fabric sewn on in "x" shapes, and an extra pocket on the right. There were more markings on the left side of his coat, but in neon blue colors rather than black. He wore the same bracelet and wristband as Kenny, but Stan had jet-black fingerless gloves like Kyle's. A single chain dangled on the left side of his pants…

Kyle looked up at the clock on the wall. He swallowed a large lump in his throat and said, "It's getting late…we should go…"

Warblade waved everyone good-bye and showed them out of her run-down house, and proceeded to kick all of the party-goers out after them…

_**Chapter 7: Another Corruption of Society**_

Kyle was nearly hit in the face by the door as he stepped onto his front porch. His mother stood there, fuming, face scarlet red.

"KYLE!" she shouted furiously, "Where have you been?! It's 9:00 and you're supposed to be in bed now!"

He walked past her into his house, took off his modified coat, and hung it up on the clothes hanger. Ike crawled up and babbled happily at the sight of his brother.

"Your father and I are very angry at you…you spent all day after school at who knows where an- What did you do to your clothes and hair!?! You look like a freak! Is it some cult fashion now?! Young man, you're grounded for three months…"

"Mom- if I don't become a part of Punk Rock like everyone else, they're going to beat me up and call me a faggot… Can't you see? It's what's in fashion now. I have to follow the trends now; don't you remember when they beat me up when everyone was into being metrosexual?"

Mrs. Broflovski sighed and shook her head. _Kids and trends these days…_ She walked past an oblivious Mr. Broflovski and picked up the phone…

Meanwhile, Stan was also getting berated by his parents.

"Stan! What have you gotten yourself into? The Punk Rock community is dangerous, son!" lectured Mr. Marsh.

"But Dad, everyone else is doing it…" whines Stan, slouched over at the table.

"If everyone else went and jumped off a cliff, would you do it? Huh, Stan? Huh?"

"Well-"

"See what I mean! I won't let you go to their concerts and events! No, Stan, and that's final!!"

The phone rings and startles everyone. Mrs. Marsh makes her way over and picks up to Mrs. Broflovski on the other line.

"Hello, Sheila…What's going on?" she mumbles, "…Huh? Kyle's into this 'Punk Rock' thing too? I should have known…"

Mrs. Broflovski went on ranting, "The Punk Rock subculture is a disgrace! Look what they've done- they're trying to overthrow the government! Some of those skinheads are Neo-Nazi! We should take matters into our own hands, Sharon- we can't let this cult corrupt our children like "Terrance and Phillip" has done before!"

"You're right. We can't let this get out of hand again. I'll go call up all the other parents, we have to _do_ something about it!" declared Mrs. Marsh determinedly.

She hung up the phone and turned to Stan. She crossed her arms and leaned back, distressed, on the counter.

"Stan, your father's right. You will have NOTHING to do with this 'Punk Rock' ordeal, ever. We forbid you from going to anything related to them or their ways," Mrs. Marsh proclaimed sternly.

Stan sulked at his parents, and stalked up to his room, locking himself in. _It's not fair. Why? Why are we punks cast from society like this?..._he mused…

_**Chapter 8: A Shocking Revelation**_

School came much too early for the tired punk newbies. Kyle and Stan were deprived of sleep from pondering their newfound social-standing plight, and Kenny stayed up all night putting up with another drunken argument at home. The trio stood at the bus stop, Kyle and Stan leaning against opposite sides of the signpost. Kenny gnawed on a pencil stub from his backpack. Dark circles lined their drooping eyes; Kenny's eyes looked especially sunken from the extra eyeliner he had on.

"You know, I don't understand why us punks are hated so much," remarked Kyle, "We didn't do anything to anyone, we just went to a rock gig and played music".

"I don't get it either," answered Stan, stretching the weariness from his limbs.

"Hey guys! Cartman's coming!" Kenny shouted with renewed vigor, pointing down the road.

Cartman strolled up to the boys, his feet crunching on the newly fallen snow. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head as he surveyed his 'friends' in their new clothes.

"Oh _no…not you guys…_ What happened?! Were you bit? Did you listen to their music?! Did you?!" he screamed hysterically.

"No, fatass. We just decided to follow the Punk Rock subculture," Kyle replied smoothly, "The question is, what happened to _you_?"

Kyle pointed at Cartman. Cartman had also went through somewhat of a makeover. His hair was slicked down into a side part style with light brownish-orange highlights peeking out from his hat. Underneath his normal red coat was a neatly kept collared white shirt. A shining golden wristwatch was entwined around his left hand.

"Ha, you stupid Jew! Don't you know anything? That Katy girl who tripped up that stupid punk yesterday invited most of the school to her sweet party…including me. I just didn't go because I had to make myself look awe-some," he retorted.

Kyle growled angrily while Stan covered his face with his hand in exasperation. Kenny walked over to his fellow punk rockers and whispered in their ears.

"I remember Warblade said something about hating her sister and her mob of 'poppies' before," he said suspiciously, "Could they be the kids Cartman's hanging out with now? They're supposed to be mortal enemies with us…"

Stan shrugged and Kyle whispered back to Kenny, "Well, then let it be so. Cartman and us are mortal enemies from this day forward."

The newfound punks reached out and joined their right hands in a traditional friendship pact.

Cartman, oblivious to the plotting of the trio he stood by, snarled, "Listen, you're my friends, but if you have been compromised, I'd have no problem taking you guys out…"

The divergent new clique members boarded the waiting school bus silently, resentment hidden behind masks of indifference…

_**Chapter 9: Broken Friendships**_

"Wow, dude…it looks like everyone in school's joined a clique," Stan said, staring around the classroom.

"Yeah. It's weird, too…the room's split into parts- we punks sit here in the middle of the class, while those 'Poppies' sit on the right end of the class, and the completely neutral kids sit on the left side of the classroom," added Kyle.

Kyle, Stan, and Kenny looked around, shocked. Stan's eyes wandered over to the 'Poppies' side of the classroom, and he banged his fist down on his desk.

"Wendy! What are you doing with _them_?!" Stan shrieked, "They're evil!"

Wendy glanced over at a bewildered Stan. She tossed her long black hair over her shoulder and rolled her eyes.

"Stan, get with the times. Everyone wants to be in this clique! The parties and stuff is great, even though I don't like how us girls are merely filling stereotypes," she told him matter-of-factly, "I'm breaking up with you again, Stan. I don't care much for boys who shop in dumpsters."

Tears stung in Stan's eyes as the cruel words coming from his girlfriend tore a void in his soul amidst merciless laughter. Kyle turned to Stan, with a troubled look in his face. Stan bit back the tears, fighting the deluge of anger and sorrow pent up within his heart.

"Oy, cuntface! Quit beating on brother Stan!" howled a voice from the back of the classroom, "You laugh now, but I'm gonna die laughing when in 30 years, I'll have a lucrative Graphic Design job and you'll still be living with your parents whoring yourselves out for crack!"

Warblade stepped to the front of the classroom and flipped the rival clique off, with a heartless sneer. Cartman got up from his desk and shoved it aside, knocking it over and stormed to the front of the classroom as well.

"Well, at least we aren't Jews, hippies, and stoners who end up as homeless assholes!" snapped Cartman, giving Warblade the finger.

"Yeah!" the other 'Poppies' chimed in.

Warblade reached for her bladed Warlock guitar upon her back, when _Riiiiing_- the recess bell goes off...

The incensed students rushed off to the playground to settle newfound scores, ignoring the substitute teacher lying prone, fast asleep, upon the teacher's desk…

_**Chapter 10: The Stones Heard 'Round the World**_

Rather than gather into play-groups as they usually would've done, the students split off into their respective cliques. Stan, Kenny, and Kyle glared at Cartman and Wendy as they followed Warblade and other fellow Punks to a shadowy spot under the brick wall.

"We're not gonna take this anymore!" shouted Warblade, drawing her bladed guitar and raising it high into the air.

The punks raised their fists, bellowing in agreement.

Kenny observed another group mingling with their Punk brethren. He stared and pointed, catching Stan's and Kyle's attention.

"Who the heck are they? They even carry a different banner than us, so what are they doing here?" demanded Kyle, "Their banner has a skull and cross-guitars motif, not the Anarchy symbol…"

"I dunno…ask Warblade," Stan muttered off-handedly, still traumatized by the chaos in the classroom.

Warblade seemed to have read their minds; she showed up behind the three confused boys. She blushed slightly and nodded.

"Ah, those are the Metalheads! They aligned themselves with us against the 'Poppies' a few months back. They follow a slightly different code than us Punks, but we all get along fine," she explained.

"So they're okay to ha-," started Kyle, but he was cut off with a brutal blow from a slushball with a pointy stone to the back of his head, "OWW!!"

Kyle wiped crimson blood from his head and turned resentfully to face his attacker. Cartman stood and pointed, rage in his eyes. A detachment of kids from the rival clique stood flanked him, anxiously holding large slushballs and sticks.

"Stone him! Stone the stupid Jew!" screamed Cartman, packing another rocky slushball.

Kyle turned tail and fled into the crowd of Punks and Metalheads, knocking over Warblade.

"Help!!" he screamed, "They want to stone me to death!"

Warblade snarled ferociously and dropped her bladed Warlock guitar into a drift of snow. She ordered a group of sixth graders to surround and protect wounded Kyle, as she ran unarmed into the growing slushball melee. She batted aside the bludgeons and projectiles as she chased down the small detachment of kids led by Cartman. She tackled Cartman, and they rolled around in the snow, kicking and punching each other in the center of the growing maelstrom of feuding cliques.

"Fall back! We'll get them another time!" shouted Cartman to the other clique members as he struggled to parry Warblade's furious punches.

The warring crowds fell silent as Mr. Mackey walked out to the playground; now a battlefield. Students on both sides of the fight dropped their makeshift weapons and backed away to reveal the single brawl in the center of it all. Oblivious to the sudden silence and Mr. Mackey's presence, Cartman and Warblade continued to beat on each other.

"That's enough, m'kay!" Mr. Mackey demanded, "Break it up, both of you!"

Only then did the two combatants stop. Warblade pushed Cartman off of herself and snarled. Mr. Mackey looked on at them with disgust. He seized both Warblade's and Cartman's arms and marched them right into his office, and the kids silently dispersed back to class. _From this day forward, this shall be known as the 'The Stones Heard 'Round the World'…_Kenny thought as he followed his classmates back to class…

_**Chapter 11: The Ever-Growing Rift**_

Mr. Mackey sat at his desk, waiting for Warblade and Cartman to speak. He glared at them, arms crossed upon his chest in anger.

"What have you got to say for yourselves?!" he yelled at both of the fighters.

"Well, I'll tell you what happened," Warblade grunted, "Fatass here decided to go all crazy with his stupid friends after the argument in class, so he threw a rock at Kyle. I got pissed, so I jumped him."

"That's 'cause you're both fucking assholes! He was calling me names and stuff!" retorted Cartman, growing impatient.

"I called both of your parents. Let's see what they have to say about this, m'kay?!" Mr. Mackey informed them.

"Are you slow, Mackey?" snapped Warblade, "My parents are stoned out in Denver right now, as usual. I just ran away with my sister and started living in the ghetto here in South Park sometime ago. You can't get contact with my parents."

Cartman turned to face his mother at the door. Her calm countenance showed no worry at all.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice, Ms. Cartman… Your son's been caught fighting with Warblade here, m'kay?" said Mr. Mackey.

Ms. Cartman glared at her son.

"You're grounded for three weeks, Eric! How could you do this?" she demanded to know.

"But _moooom_…she was being _meeean_ to me…she made Kyle and all my friends _hate_ me…" whined Cartman, brushing streams of fake tears from his eyes.

Ms. Cartman felt completely lost. She wasn't sure who to believe…or what to believe, for that matter. Eric seemed so _innocent_, but he was prone to fighting…and what was that about his friends _hating_ him…?

Meanwhile, the Punks were gathered in a circle in the back of the classroom. Some of them sat and cut scraps of fabric to use as makeshift bandages, and others were busy trying to stop the crimson stream dripping down the back of Kyle's head, soaking his ushanka and coat in blood.

"Dude, you're bleeding pretty bad… You should go down to the clinic or something, Kyle," whispered Stan, wiping thick blood from his hands.

Kyle cringed. The wound spewed more warm blood as he twitched at the thought of seeing Nurse Gollum.

He shook his head gingerly and slumped to the hard ground in pain, a puddle of fresh blood upon the tile floor.

"I'll…I'll be okay…" he murmured to Stan, "Just go get me some more…more bandages…please…"

Wendy gave Stan and the punks a "You completely deserved it" look and turned back to chatting with Bebe. Stan's eyes burned with angry tears, and he focused his attention back on trying to help his best friend. At the very same moment, Warblade and Cartman slunk back into the classroom, heads down in embarrassment. Kyle, Stan, and Kenny stared at Cartman in disbelief. Warblade sighed and returned to the playground to retrieve her guitar. There was no doubt about it- everyone knew that this was going to be one long, legendary school-wide war…

_**Chapter 12: In Hell's Pass Hospital**_

Warblade kneeled beside Kyle. He looked up into her face…there was this…compassionate expression in it. Kyle blinked twice, to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. Warblade really was concerned about what happened; it was a truly rare occurrence for her sympathetic side to show at all through her hardened demeanor. Kyle smiled weakly, and Warblade nodded solemnly in response. She removed her long black scarf, and wrapped it around his head a few times.

"There. That should hold until school gets out In half an hour," she told him, "I hope your parents won't get too mad about this. I think you'll be fine, I've seen people get their limbs cut off in fights, but you've lost a good amount of blood…"

Kyle nodded, his vision fading out to black…

"Stan, Kenny, and Paranoid Delusion Kenny- help me take him down to Hell's Pass Hospital after school, y'got that?" she asked Kyle's most loyal friends.

"Who's 'Paranoid Delusion' Kenny?" Stan asked.

"That's my bandmate, of course," replied Warblade, "We'll just call your friend Kenny, how about that?"

The three boys nodded in agreement as the final dismissal bell rung for the day…

Warblade managed to wrap Kyle's limp form in some of her tattered blankets before her friends and his friends carried him off by foot to the hospital. There, they waited several anxious hours for him to be treated. As the sun started to set beyond the mountains once more, the Broflovski parents arrived to visit Kyle…

Stan, Kenny, Paranoid Delusion Kenny, and Warblade were sprawled out in the waiting room adjacent to Kyle's hospital room, sharing a bag of Cheesy Poofs when Mr. and Mrs. Broflovski walked in. The punks gave them a sullen look, eyes sunken in worry and weariness. The Broflovskis eyed them with pure contempt, even at Stan, Kyle's best friend. Not too long after their silent eye-to-eye standoff, the doctor appeared in the waiting room, announcing that Kyle was finally awake.

The Broflovski parents rushed into Kyle's room the minute they heard the doctors unlock the door, but were driven out almost as soon as they went in. Mrs. Broflovski was fuming; Kyle had wanted to talk to his _filthy little Punk Rock friends_ first…

The group walked in quietly but reluctantly. Stan cringed as he saw Kyle sitting in the gurney. Kyle's head was bandaged heavily, there was an IV tube stuck up one arm and another blood transfusion needle taped into the other arm. His blood-stained overcoat hung off the light fixtures by his bed.

"I'm…I'm sorry, Kyle…" started Warblade, "I didn't mean for you to get this way because of us…"

Kyle shook his head gently, "It really wasn't your fault, Warblade. Cartman's hated me for being a Jew since we knew each other. He must've been really pissed back there or something…it's okay…"

Stan and Kenny each spent a few minutes talking to their wounded comrade alone, before the group headed out together to set off for home silently.

Mr. and Mrs. Broflovski finally went in to talk to their son, but they didn't give him the usual sympathy for when he got hurt. In fact, their reaction to Kyle's injury was anything but…

"_Kyle! What did we tell you about associating with this sick cult you call a 'subculture'? See what it got you into?_ Now, you're laying around bleeding profusely out of the back of your head!" his mother screeched.

"We warned you explicitly last night about hanging out with these people. _I hope you've learned your lesson; your mother was right about this!_" added his father.

"But…it wasn't about my clique…it was about Cartman attacking me again because I'm Jewish…" explained Kyle, in vain.

"What, what, what?! You're just using him as a scapegoat for covering up your intentions of playing with your filthy little friends! Quit lying, Kyle! I'm going to have to stop this _immediately_ before things get any worse!" Mrs. Broflovski yelled at him.

"No…" Kyle protested, "You can't…remember what happened last time…?"

Mrs. Broflovski ignored his feebly quiet explanations and protests, as she stood and formulated a complex plan to undermine the very clique he was part of…

Kyle's eyes drooped from fatigue, and he fell asleep in the then-dark room, leaving his parents to rant about the evils of Punk Rock until they got home…

_**Chapter 13: Parents Against Punk Rock**_

The boys' parents stood waiting in the Marshes' living room for Stan and Kenny to return. Their eyes were shrouded in frustration and confusion.

"Where are they?" asked Liane Cartman.

Randy and Sharon shrugged. As if on cue, Stan and Kenny trudged through the front door, shaking off the snow from their clothes. They looked up, up to the parents' piercing stares and stern countenances.

"What now?" Stan muttered, exasperated. He flicked his black bangs out of his eyes and stared back at the adults.

"Boys, we forbid you to associate yourselves with those abominations of society," started Mrs. Broflovski, "It's corrupting your fragile little minds!"

"There's nothing _corrupt_ about it, Mrs. Broflovski. You're just overprotective," Stan said.

"Stan, don't you realize what just happened today? Kyle's in the hospital because of your friends' clique. You have to stop hanging out with these people for your own sake," his mother told him.

"It wasn't that!" cried Kenny, "Cartman threw the rock at him because he hates Jews, not because he doesn't like us punks!"

"But Eric's always said that he hated punks almost as much as Hippies," Ms. Cartman reminded everyone.

"There, you see? That's why our son is in the hospital now," Mr. Broflovski told the group, accusingly.

Stan crossed his arms across his chest. _It wasn't our fault_…he thought angrily to himself. Kenny slapped his hand upon his forehead, apparently feeling the same exact thing.

"Get rid of that punk paraphernalia, boys," directed Mr. Marsh.

He walked towards Stan and Kenny, hand reaching out to take their accessories. Kenny backed away, a dirty look in his eyes. Stan stood there, brazenly and pushed his father back.

"No. It wasn't their fault, or ours, for the matter. It was Cartman who attacked Kyle, what don't you get about that?" Stan told him irritably.

"Stan…" Mr. Marsh said, warningly.

He pushed his father away once more with more force, turned, and ran out of the house. Kenny stared around once more at the outraged parents, and walked out defiantly after Stan.

Randy turned to the others, furious.

"We have to do something about this, right now!" he shouted, slamming the front door shut.

"We must stop Punk Rock from getting to our children's heads!" Mrs. Broflovski declared, "We must go fight the roots of it! Let's form an organization to destroy Punk Rock!"

"Yeah!" shouted the others in unison, "Parents against Punk Rock! Parents against Punk Rock"

"Punk Rock shall no longer corrupt our children!!" Mrs. Broflovski cried, raising her fist in the air, rallying the other adults…

_**Chapter 14: The Midnight Visit**_

Stan and Kenny ran down the road, all the way back to the hospital. The windows were cold and dead, with a layer of newly fallen snow lining them. The wind picked up slightly, sending bitterly cold snowflakes in their faces.

"We have to get to Kyle," Stan concluded, "Our society and our friendship isn't going down without a fight."

Kenny nodded, but his eyes grew wide with shock as he pointed up at a third-story window.

"Hey! That's the window for Kyle's room!" Stan shouted, "What is _that_?"

He stared up with Kenny to a couple of dark figures scaling the walls with a long rope. One of them pulled out a razor and cut a hole into the window's glass, and the two figures crawled into the room, silently.

"They're going to kill Kyle!" Kenny screamed, yanking on the cords of his parka.

"_No, they're NOT_!" growled Stan, as he ran up to the rope and started climbing as fast as he could up the wall.

Kenny followed him, and they leapt through the window. Stan seized one of the figures by the neck in a chokehold. The lights flickered on, to reveal the identities of the two people Stan and Kenny were pursuing. Stan looked at his victim…only to find it was Warblade. She hacked and spat, rubbing her neck as he dropped her promptly to the ground.

"What were you thinking?!" shouted the mohawked Kenny, "Was it that you thought we were going to finish off Kyle or something?"

Stan blushed and stepped away from Warblade. She shot him a sarcastic look and shook her head.

"You don't have to worry, Stan," Warblade told him, "We go on night-time excursions all the time…and we wanted to check up on Kyle tonight."

She pulled a small, cerulean satchel from her pants pocket and untied the golden cord.

"We came to bring him this…"

Warblade stuck her hand into the tiny bag and drew out a simple guitar pick. It was a deep forest-green, with a silver-colored Anarchy symbol engraved in the center.

"It's a guitar pick," Stan said, uninterested, "It's not going to do my best friend any good now."

"That's what you think…" whispered Warblade's bandmate, "But it's not an ordinary pick. This one seems to bring about healing or something weird like that when someone touches it."

Warblade moved towards Kyle's bed, where he lay fast asleep, breathing softly. She closed her eyes and placed the pick gently under his neck. The foursome sat, silently, as if they were waiting for something to happen. Stan and Kenny looked up at Kyle after a few minutes; it seemed that he was coming to his senses once more.

"What…time…is it?..." Kyle mumbled, "Stan…Kenny…you guys…what are you doing here?"

"Whoa, dude! The pick actually works!" Kenny exclaimed.

"Pick? What pick?" Kyle asked, confusedly, "That's strange…my head doesn't hurt at all now, and the bleeding's stopped."

As he pushed himself upright in his bed and threw aside the white sheets, the guitar pick clattered to the ground. Warblade smiled and plucked the tiny piece of plastic from the floor, putting it back in the little blue satchel.

"Thank goodness you're feeling better," she said, nodding, "We have tons of things to discuss. First of all, we gotta get you out of here."

Both Kennys grabbed a hold on the IV and blood tubes and pulled them gingerly out of Kyle's arms. Stan rushed to the far corner of the quiet room and vomited violently. Meanwhile, Warblade started to unwrap Kyle's head bandages. She was halted by him, when he grasped her arm.

"Don't take the bandages off. The injury might start to bleed again," Kyle told her, "I understand that you feel I've gotten better already, but I'm not really sure…"

Warblade nodded, as she turned and tossed Kyle his blood-encrusted coat.

"Put it on," she directed, "You're gonna need it, the snow's picking up out there."

Warblade took her scarf back from under Kyle's pillow; it was left there when the doctors were working on stemming Kyle's bleeding. She scratched dried blood off of it, then wrapped it twice around her neck and face before jumping out the window, sending snowflakes swirling into the room. Her mohawked friend and Kyle followed, dutifully.

Stan and Kenny hastily scrawled a note stating that Kyle was healed and that they checked out with the nurse on night duty, pinned it up on the door, and followed the other three punks out through the broken window down to the growing drifts of snow below…

_**Chapter 15: The Plot at Warblade's House**_

As the group waited for Stan to descend from the rope, they huddled in a tight little pack, trying to keep warm. He jumped down, and detached the rope from the windowsill. They squeezed together even tighter, and they made their way down the path in enormous drifts of new snow.

"Ugh. Hell froze over out here tonight," Warblade complained, as she shivered bitterly, "Kyle, get in the middle of our group…you're bound to freeze easier if you're hurt."

Kyle nodded and clung onto Stan's and Kenny's coats. The group trudged slowly through the thick layers of freshly fallen snow, their breath hanging in the air like frigid, misty fog…

After a good hour of digging a path through the snow, Warblade stopped. Something seemed very wrong… She turned to look, and Kenny was gone. Stan and Kyle were on their knees, shuddering from the cold. Snowflakes pounded at their beaten faces as the wind picked up once more.

"Kenny? Kenny, where are you?!" she screamed into the night.

A feeble voice greeted her some few yards away. Kenny was kneeling on the ground, shivering and turning a slight blue in the face.

"Kenny…please…please don't die out here…" she pleaded to her weak brethren clad in his scruffy orange parka, "It's not far from my house now, and when we get there, I'll make sure we're all warm an' everything…"

Kenny picked up on her saddened encouragement, stood intrepidly, and flung the icicles from the ends of his coat. He shuffled on, supported by Warblade, and rejoined the group. From there, they crawled another half a mile to Warblade's beaten down bungalow, hidden in the pure, white snow.

The five weary, snow-covered punks made their way into Warblade's house. They headed straight into her room, warmed by the numerous candles she had lit before she set off to visit Kyle at the hospital. Warblade tossed the four boys each a ratted blanket as she brushed off the snow from her clothes and got busy brewing some tea and coffee.

Bandmate Kenny brought the largest candle to the middle of the room, where he settled down and brought forth some yellowed paper and bits of charcoal to write with. Stan, Kenny, and Kyle chose places by him, sitting merely inches away from each other. Kyle leaned his head against Stan, eyes reflecting pain and exhaustion.

"It's been a long night…" he started, staring at the three newbie punks, "You've been through a lot already. Let's just figure out what to do about tomorrow."

"Yeah…" Stan said, tiredly.

Warblade rejoined the group with a steaming mug of tea and four large cups of coffee for everyone else. The shadows below her eyes were darkened further by the flickering light of the candle. Kenny seized his cup of coffee and drank it, warming his partially frozen body.

"Look…we've been beaten down and shat upon today by everyone," Warblade sighed, "I think we should let them get at us once more, then we'll go kick their sorry asses until they'd wish they were dead in Hell. Let them make the first official move, then it's war for us."

The others nodded in agreement. Kyle shook off a thin layer of snow from his coat, and Stan took another sip of his coffee.

"We'll fight back in all the ways we can…" she continued, "Physically, mentally…everything. We'll beat them so bad that their filthy clique will be no more."

"Sounds good…" Kenny said, face returning to a normal tone.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," Warblade told him, "We ought to get some sleep, now…"

Warblade blew out the candle, and the room was plunged into darkness, lit only by the streetlamp through the raging snowstorm…

_Next Chapter coming soon!_


End file.
